


Darkness

by 0oMooncalfo0



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Character Study, Deconstruction, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0oMooncalfo0/pseuds/0oMooncalfo0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rydia had to keep reminding herself that Cecil was human."</p>
<p>As the young summoner walks with her companions towards the Antlion's den, she contemplates all that has happened to her these past few weeks: the trials she has come through, and most especially her mysterious protector. Cecil is a blank wall of black armor. She can see no hint of the man within. Cecil rarely speaks. Cecil is never wounded, and every foe he faces falls with a single surge from his Dark Blade. He is fully armed every time she sees him, and after all she's experienced, how can Rydia know for sure if any man of flesh and blood truly walks beneath that ebony shell? But of course, the real world is never that simple and monsters don't hide under little girl's beds. And, of course, tales whose theme is Darkness rarely ever end with warm and fluffy feelings. </p>
<p>A deconstruction that seeks to pick apart the early part of FFIV with special focus on the bombing of Damcyan, Rydia's delicate mental state, and Cecil's Dark Wave ability. Most of the blood will be in the 2nd chapter of this two-shot, but it will get gory. All medical and biological concepts are accurate and based on my knowledge as a pre-med student and as an EMT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

Rydia had to keep reminding herself that Cecil was human.

The seven year old summoner felt a twinge of guilt at the thought as she trudged clumsily along the barren desert terrain, unfamiliar leather garments chaffing and bumping at her limbs. But as she cast another hesitant glance towards the dark, hulking shadow that strode before her, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine. Rydia bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut for the tiniest of seconds. Inside her mind, the young girl whispered a quiet apology to her mommy, whom she knew would not have been proud of her for such thoughts—most especially not of a man who had thus far been nothing but kind to her…

Kind…but distant. Quiet. Unseen.

Like an eidolon.

Like a—

Rydia snapped her eyes back open as she felt the gentle brush of calloused fingers against the back of her arm, just under the reach of the alien-feeling shoulder pads. She blinked a few times before she turned to face the fingers’ owner, ensuring that no lingering tears betrayed her. She couldn’t cry now. Not when they had so many important things to do! She had to be a big girl now. There was no time for being scared out here in the wilderness—not when there were monsters and bad guys lurking at every turn. Not when there was an entire army out to get her and her fellow traveling companions! She had to be a big girl now and fight like the tough, grown-up men.

Besides, there wasn’t anyone left to dry her tears anyway.

_Mommy’s gone now…_

Her vision was still somewhat bleary with saltwater as she turned at last to face her nearest comrade, but with difficulty, she managed to keep her face neutral. With bitter resolve, she managed to keep her lip from trembling. Her gaze was met with the sparking eyes of Prince Edward of Damcyan, a look of quiet concern playing about his features. _‘What’s wrong?’_ those eyes asked silently. _‘Let me help you._ ’ But Rydia merely shook her head, turning determinedly back towards the winding path ahead of them. Keeping her view firmly on the ground, she pretended to be watching the terrain. Edward’s hand squeezed her shoulder tighter, as if in comfort. The young summoner smiled faintly. She couldn’t tell the prince how thankful she was for his company any more than she could voice the feelings of detachment she held toward the dark knight that led them. Edward was human. Edward felt real to her. She could hear him panting slightly as he fought determinedly to keep up with Cecil. She could see the lines of sweat that kissed his flesh. She could feel the smooth callouses along his fingers, built up from some two decades of devoted string-playing.

She could sense the aura of sadness that even now hung around his being.

He was nothing at all like the iron reaper that led at their party’s head. Cecil… Rydia could see nothing of him spare the broad, angular shape of his armored body. She could hear nothing except the void left by hulking plates of metal that moved entirely too quietly.

To this day, she still had not yet seen his face—nor any other part of the knight’s body for that matter. Sometimes Rydia thought she might have preferred Cecil’s traveling companion—that other armored man who had accompanied him to Mist. She could still picture them that way, even after these many weeks with Cecil: the ghostly figures who had appeared out the flames that night, looming over her mother’s lifeless body. She remembered the uncertainty, as she looked through the smoke, of which of the pair she should have been more afraid. Cecil’s words had been the more compassionate, the more genuine. But all the same…

The young summoner thought of the dragoon, whom she had not seen since. His armor had been light and tight-fitting—for what purpose, she could only guess. It had betrayed every line and curve of his physical shape: his tall stature, his relatively thin build. Beneath his dragon-like helm, she had been able to see at least half his face, to catch glimpses of pale blond hair. Ungloved hands had gripped his spear, fair flesh shining in the firelight. Cecil said his name was Kain. He had been missing after the earthquake—and for her own part, Rydia did feel a bit guilty about that.

But Cecil… Cecil who was clad in armor that betrayed absolutely no sign of the man that might lie beneath it. Armor that was black as pitch. Armor that was covered in ghastly spikes and spines. In all they had traveled together, she had learned that this dark shadow was not a creature without honor or remorse. He had been nothing but kindly and patient with her since they had left the ruins of Mist. But in all that time, nor had she scarcely seen any more of the man then she had that first night of the fire. When they spoke, however gentle his words, Rydia could find no face with which to associate them. She could not see the eyes filled with sorrow or worry. She could not see his lip tremble as he looked upon his lady friend, ailing back in the village of Kaipo. Even his voice was distorted and warped by the many sheets of metal it need pass through to reach her ears.

All that greeted her each day was the ghastly façade of a horned devil, created by his impenetrable helm. What may or may not have lain beneath… was still a silent, shrouded mystery. Sometimes it was easier to believe that perhaps there was nothing at all inside that black armor.

…

 Rydia of Mist, a small wide-eyed girl with startling green hair and a sparkling azure gaze, had been away from home for some time now. Many weeks ago, she had left her tiny, forest-bound village after an attack from the mighty kingdom of Baron had left it in smoldering ruins. That had been weeks ago. Since then, she had been wandering about the uncharted wilderness with a powerful Baron soldier named Cecil Harvey. He said he was a ‘Dark Knight’, which meant little to Rydia except that he wore a lot of imposing black armor and never showed two centimeters of flesh.

Ironically, it had been Cecil himself who had seen Mist burned to the ground—though he had claimed later that it was an accident. He claimed he had not known at the time that the delivery he bore unto the village was a flaming trap to ensure its destruction.

Despite the knight’s imposing appearance, she believed him this innocence. There were times, when he spoke gently to her, that she could almost hear the lamenting man within. She could almost envision that perhaps there was something more to him than sheets of dull iron… Glimpses of a human soul, even if not a body. But of course, those moments never lasted long: not before another battle dragged him into the darkness of the fight again. Cecil had also said he’d once been the leader of his kingdom’s mighty air force, and that he had only been sent on the mission to Mist in the first place after he had dared to question the violent motives of his king. He never said anything more about that—neither the king, nor the kingdom, nor the soldiers who chased them. He merely fought. And won. And moved on.

And, most importantly of all, he had apologized…both for destroying the young girl’s village and for ensuring the death of her mother moments before the flames had engulfed them.

That too he said had been an accident.

Many times, he had sworn it was an accident.

Rydia supposed she had no reason to disbelieve Cecil, which was partially the reason she had chosen to follow him this far, despite her obvious insecurities. She had reasoned the matter over in her young mind more times than she could count. She had found no flaw in his explanation, however sparingly and distantly it had been divulged. After all, the girl had thought perhaps a dozen times, if the King of Baron had sent his knights bearing such a bomb, surely he could not have expected them to survive the fires? Didn’t that prove that her companion couldn’t be fighting for that nasty king? Didn’t he prove it with every soldier he slayed in her defense? With every morn she continued to wake, rested and unharmed?

To this day, they still privately wondered if that very fate had not befallen Cecil’s partner, Kain. The fires. The Earthquake. Cecil didn’t talk about that much. Then again, Cecil didn’t talk about anything much aside from the training and safety of his young charge. And never, never once was he seen.

 Cecil was always patient.

Cecil always said the right thing for the occasion.

But even when he spoke words of encouragement, it was a ghastly, demonic helm she saw deliver them. Even when he vowed to protect her or yelled in defiance at their enemies, it was with the same distorted tone.

But beneath his precious shroud of silence and darkness, there was no sign of a kindly soul to whom she could associate his virtues. There was nothing to hug when she cried at night. There was no sign of an identity with which she could form a bond…

He said he didn’t know how he had personally survived that fire, let alone the attack by Titan that Rydia had unwittingly summoned afterwards. For her own part, Rydia assumed that she had only survived herself because Cecil had protected her. To sustain such a brutal attack, to be the lone survivor of such physical horrors, to further carry the both of them alone across a monster-infested desert…she could only assume her companion had to be quite a soldier…

Or something else entirely.

A beast. An eidolon. The ghost of a thousand souls, slain on the field of battle. A black-clad golem just for her.

The first time Rydia had seen Cecil outside the flames was when she had awoken the next evening after the fire in the bed of a strange inn. She had learned then from the generous innkeeper that there had been no other survivors from the catastrophe at Mist and that she had been carried in, unconscious, by a solemn-looking knight. How he could tell that Cecil had been ‘solemn-looking’, she could only guess, for when her reported savior walked in, it was with that grisly black helmet through which not even his eyes could be seen. Rydia had not known what to make of it—any of it. His words had spoken of genuine concern, though at the time she had wanted to hear none of it. He had introduced himself, apologized, offered to protect her…but she had said nothing in reply.

She hadn’t known Cecil then.

Then, she had expected him to continue his pestering, or else leave her be. But to the girl’s surprise, he did neither. He had asked her no more questions and instead took up a seat at her bedside, watching the door intently. Even when the night had grown deep, he had remained there, silently, dozing lightly against the wall, still in his full armor. It was as if he had known even then what would soon be coming for them. As if he could anticipate the inevitable attack once the soldiers of Baron had learned of his betrayal—of Rydia’s own survival.

When the general and his trio of soldiers entered the room, Rydia had squealed in fright, but Cecil had remained silent as the grave. He had shouted in reply to their demands, metallic voice coarse with defiance. He had refused to deliver her unto them. With horror, the summoner had watched from afar as he was surrounded in her stead.

Cries of “DIE!” had echoed through the chamber.

She had scarcely seen him move. Swords had clinked and stabbed, but not a single one seemed to make contact. Cecil did not falter, did not fall. Though enemy blades had lunged at his chest and sliced at his helm, she had doubted even if they made contact. As if he were mist itself, they might have passed straight through. Then, with a single, dark blast from the end of his blade, with a quick, final swoop…where four soldiers had been, there had remained little more than highly charged air and a dark stain on the floor. They might have been nothing but a nightmare.

 The knight had staggered, and, for a moment, Rydia had believed he might be wounded. But in a way she would later come to expect from the ever-cool Cecil Harvey, he had immediately waved her concerns. As if nothing had transpired, he had glided back across the room, armor quiet as the night, body not even shaking with the heavy breath of exertion. He had sworn then to protect her.

That had been their first night together, and things had not changed much since.

That night of horror… it was the first time she began, even if at the back of her mind, to think of Cecil as something more akin to one of her summoned monsters than as a true being of flesh and blood. At that point, she wouldn’t have put it past the men of Baron to be little more than summoned demons covered by loose panels of metal. 

She would put nothing past Baron.

Like Titan, he was almost effortlessly mighty, scarcely ever giving his enemies a chance to strike in battle. Never once did she see him hit, or wounded, or hear him complain. And true to his word, never once had he let serious harm befall her. Patiently and quietly, he had let her get her bearings with her new equipment before they set off together across the desert. Now a new bow and quiver hung awkwardly across her back so that she would not be defenseless even when her magic began to run low. Pads of hardened leather protected her from the basest of blows while Cecil silently disposed of any and all larger threats.

Whenever they had laid to rest thereafter, he had always seen that Rydia had a room or a tent of her own. She never saw him disarmed. He was still awake when she went to bed each night, and fully armored again when she arose the next morning. Truly, she had no proof that he slept at all…

Or if he did, that the armor itself was not _part_ of him…

They had acquired a funny old man for a while—a bombastic fellow who had smelled of strange ingredients that he called his ‘spell components’. He, however, had left some time ago after they had reached the raided palace of Damcyan.

Now they had a new member of their not-so-merry band: Edward von Muir, prince of the desert kingdom. According to Tellah, he was also a ‘spoony bard’, though Rydia wasn’t entirely certain what made one ‘spoony’. As the sole survivor of the palace bombing, Edward had only been spared at the sacrifice of his parents and his new bride. Rydia couldn’t help but sympathize.

 Rydia liked Edward. He was tall and thin, but still substantial enough to cuddle. His eyes were the color of the sun-warmed rocks and his hair, of the desert sands. At night, he played songs for her from his lyre. She hadn’t realized until he’d joined them just how much she had missed the touch of another human being, the comforting embrace of a warm body. As they camped through the cool desert nights, he held closely to her willowy frame when they sat around the fire. He wasn’t her mother, but she sometimes wondered if this was not what a father figure was like. She was scarcely even afraid of the flames… Perhaps in her many weeks alone, on the run with her shadowy protector, she had forgotten what companionship used to be.

Cecil still did not change, in fact, with Edward around to take care of her, he seemed even quieter than he had been before. Now he truly did seem like an armor-clad golem as he walked boldly before them, wordlessly leading the way to the antlion’s den.

He was not like Edward—or even like Tellah!

She could not see him. She could not hear him. There was nothing about him that was familiar or relatable to life as she had known it.

He was surreal.

Like an eidolon.

She had to remind herself that he was human, for obvious evidence was rather scarce.

 

…

 

“Everything all right, Miss Rydia?”

The child summoner was broken from her reverie as a soft voice spoke from somewhere nearby. Glancing back up from the monotonous ground, she realized she had fallen a good two meters or so behind the rest of her companions. Hurrying to catch back up, she dashed across the dune, feet sliding and sinking beneath her. In her haste, she stumbled and was only saved from a face-full of hot sand by the quick reflexes of the young prince, Edward.

“Easy,” he whispered as he helped her right herself. Gracefully, he knelt down on one knee until he could meet her gaze. “Are you all right, m’lady?” he asked softly, grey eyes twinkling with concern.

“I-I’m fine!” Rydia squeaked, flushing a bashful shade of vermillion. “I was just lost in thought…I’m sorry!”

But Edward merely shook his head, sandy hair swishing elegantly as he did so. “It is we who should be begging pardon, milady. We with our long legs making a poor girl run after us in the heat. Some gentlemen we are." He whispered a quiet apology after this last; bowing his head, he chastely kissed her fingers, which were still wrapped within his own. For the second time, Rydia felt a heat rush to her face that had little to do with the weather.

In fact, so distracted was she by their company bard, that for a moment, the young summoner almost forgot about their third party member entirely!

A short ways ahead of them, she saw that Cecil too had stopped in his tracks and was glancing over his shoulder at his traveling companions. He, however, remained rooted firmly to spot—whether in waiting or impatience it was impossible to be certain. For the briefest of seconds, Rydia thought she saw Edward’s eyes flash over the dark knight, glittering strangely. They seemed to spend an oddly long time scanning up and down his bulky shape, as if looking for something. But before she could assure herself that it was anything more than a trick of the heat, the bard was already gazing back up at her, smiling softly.

“Here, let’s get you off your feet,” he muttered, offering her a hand. Somewhat bashfully, the small girl accepted; in a hurried heartbeat, she found herself effortlessly swept onto his back where his lute sometimes hung. Hiding beneath her hair, Rydia breathed a sigh of relief that at least up here, the dashing prince could not see her face redden any more. Content that she was settled, Edward slowly rose to his feet. In a few quick strides, he had pulled up beside Cecil again.

The dark knight was still eyeing them all the while this was transpiring, judging by the direction of his gaze. But even as they drew near, he did not immediately make to move forward. Instead, he continued to stand there: still, silent, a macabre mockery of the decorative suits of armor Rydia had seen half-destroyed back at Edward’s palace. His face buried deep beneath his helm, it was impossible to determine the exact object of his scrutiny as they approached. But something about the burning feeling at the base of her neck told Rydia that his eyes were most likely directed at the man beneath her…and that their gaze was less than pleased.

“Sir Dark Knight?” Edward goaded gaily, coming to a halt beside him. He fixed his opposing comrade with what Rydia suspected was a pointedly cheery smile. If he too could feel the piercing intensity of his fellow’s gaze, he did nothing to show it.

For a moment, Cecil said nothing. Then, as Edward continued to beam, something that almost sounded like a sigh escaped from beneath his helmet. “And what do you intend to do,” he asked quietly, tone distorted and unreadable as it resonated out of his metal shell, “the next time we are attacked?”

Edward’s cheery smile slipped off his face as surely as fresh mud in a rainstorm. Beneath her, Rydia could have sworn she felt his back stiffen and his shoulders slump. When he spoke next, his voice was deeper and darker than the girl remembered ever hearing it before. Though his words were nearly silent, they carried across the barren land between them with the same purpose and power of every note he sang:

“I _can_ fight, you know, Cecil.”

The knight in question said nothing in reply. For a few moments longer, the demonic eye-slits of his helm continued to stare at Edward, as if regarding him with scrutiny. To this end, even Rydia had to admit the prince was putting up poorly. His words were brave, but even she could feel him trembling slightly with the stress of confronting the armed soldier. And if she, a mere girl of seven could sense his anxiety…

Cecil dwelt for a heartbeat longer on the thin, waiflike bard at his side. Then, without so much as an acknowledgement of the man’s feeble challenge, he turned and headed forward once again into the abyss of the desert. Edward sighed, watching the knight’s armored back as he became smaller and smaller from their perch atop the sand dune.

“Perhaps not with a sword and shield,” he whispered—more to himself, Rydia suspected, than she or Cecil, “but I can be a help to him…if only he would allow it.”

The young summoner remained silent, not daring to say anything in reply—or even in comfort—that might break the prince’s moment of seriousness. Something in his words, in his tone, captivated her. ‘If only he would allow it…’ But it was not as if Cecil had ever barred his companions from fighting beside him. What was it that he wouldn’t allow? He had seen them both properly armed before they left. There was simply little need for she or Edward to strike blows—not when a single wave of dark energy from Cecil’s blade finished off nearly every enemy they had met thus far. What, then? She couldn’t help feeling—from the strangeness of Edward’s words, from the sudden gravity of his character—that perhaps there was something in this situation that she was missing. Something important.

“Please don’t do this, Cecil,” Edward whispered—to the wind itself, for Rydia was not sure if he even remembered her presence just that moment. “Please, let us help you… Don’t you know that—” but his warning fell away to little more than a sigh. For the briefest of moments, he watched the retreating knight continue away from them, unaware or unacknowledging of his companion’s pleas. Then, closing his eyes, the bard let the desert breeze whip his hair freely about his face. And, to no one Rydia could see, he muttered his softest yet, voice fervent and pleading as if in prayer: 

“I beg, let this cup pass him by. For I fear him too foolish not to drink of its poison…”

Rydia blinked with curiosity at the man beneath her as he bowed his head and finished his quiet vigil. She was not sure she quite understood what had just transpired. But before she could even debate the merits of asking Edward about it, the desert prince had already started down the dune in Cecil’s wake. Side by side, the pair walked as they had before—as if nothing at all had taken place these last few minutes of their journey. All that had changed now was that the little girl who had trailed pensively behind them was now sitting, wide-eyed and curious, atop Edward’s shoulders.

For the long hours that passed, she glanced back and forth between the two men, waiting—hoping even—for something more to happen. For one more remark to be spoken. For the quiet tension to resolve itself with the explosive force that, surely, lay beneath. For Edward’s words of entreaty to resolve themselves into some kind of sense.

But nothing of the sort transpired.

The rest of their walk that afternoon remained in silence.

True to Cecil’s prediction, they ran into a handful of monstrous desert creatures on the way—something called a sandworm that rose, towering out of the dusty terrain. But true to expectation, none of them lasted long in the wake of their party. Rydia for her part did not even have to cast a single spell. When they reached the entrance to the Antlion cave hours before dusk, it was in undeniable proof of her assertion that nothing could stand up to the glowing magic of Cecil’s Dark Blade. The young girl was content that there was nothing that could stop the vast shadow that was Cecil Harvey: no enemy that could withstand him, no blow that could harm him. She knew not what Edward could have meant with his cup of poison, for she doubted now if such a draught could so much as affect the man in the slightest.

It was not until that evening that all these things she had been dwelling upon: Cecil’s dark armor, his flawless skill and apparent invulnerability, the young prince’s words of concern…

…would come to their terrible fruition.                                                                        

 

…

 

Inside Antlion cave, water was dripping, rocks were shifting, dank air was blowing…

And Rydia was screaming.

The young summoner hurled herself sideways, bumping and bruising elbows and knees as she rolled across the hard stone floor. With a thundering cash, a large, reptilian foot smashed down onto the space she had only just evacuated. The foot’s owner—a massive turtle some 3 meters high—let out a deafening roar, as if frustrated to have missed the opportunity of squishing its tiny human target. The arrow that Rydia had moments ago fired in defense lay bent and unusable upon the ground a short distance away. Seeing the way it had simply tinked off the creature’s vast, scaly skin, she doubted if it had even felt the pitiful attack.

This had been the way of things for the past few hours now, ever since the trio of travelers had set foot inside the winding cavern. Hordes of beasts had been waiting to attack them at seemingly every turn, and what should have been a quick walk to the antlion’s den had turned into a slow dungeon crawl. Each of them were tired now from countless battles, Rydia personally running on almost no remaining magic. And yet still, the melee continued.

Edward had seemed surprised, after they had landed his family’s hovercraft on this small island, to see so many monsters had apparently made a home of the place. Rydia had wondered if perhaps this situation was unnatural, then—if it was perhaps another thing that had mysteriously changed about the world since Baron had begun its era of crystal-collecting. She still had vague memories of her late village elders holding meetings to discuss the global effects of such actions. Mind, she had no idea what sort of conclusions those meetings might have drawn.

And judging by Edward’s pitiful fighting since they arrived, it was also just as likely that he had simply never ventured this far from his castle.

Still breathing hard, the sorceress forced herself back off the floor, ignoring the ache of protest in her limbs. As she whirled back around to face the battle, it was to see that the beast, her pursuer, had apparently not been fooled by her last-minute dodge. Taking several long strides backward, Rydia squealed again as she hit solid rock. She was backed into a corner. There was no escape. Enormous footsteps resounded like cannon-fire as the turtle drew its massive legs stomping towards her.

Over the cacophony, Rydia imagined she could just hear Edward shouting her name as he raced around the monster’s side. His fingers never once broke their pattern against his lyre strings even as he ran, still trying desperately to pluck out a melody. But if the entrancing sounds of his music were intended to lull this beast into slumber, then it was most definitely not working. Between the noise of their raised voices and the creature’s own explosive footsteps, Rydia wondered if it could even hear the tune at all.

Reaching behind her, the summoner drew another arrow from her quiver and knocked it on the string with trembling fingers. Drawing her arms into position, she readied herself to fire off another attack, futile an effort though she knew it would be. Rydia swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her wavering aim true. At least this way she would go down like her mommy: fighting, even if in vain, until the very end.

The sounds of her racing heart pounded in her ears as she watched her enemy approach—almost drowning out the sounds of its gigantic stomping feet. But still she did not loose her arrow. She held her fire, waiting until the last possible second. If she only had one shot, she had to make sure it struck home.

Somewhere to her left, Edward seemed to have given up on his playing. Abandoning his lyre, she watched as he pounded, bare-fisted, into the monster’s hide. “Leave the girl!” he shrieked at the creature, his voice, so lovely when he sang, was now rough and raw. Shaking arms still holding her bow at the ready, Rydia watched in earnest as the prince knelt down to the cavernous ground behind him and began pelting rocks at the gargantuan beast. “I said _leave her!_ ” he screamed, hurling a particularly sharp stone at the creature’s head. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The makeshift projectile bounced off the turtle’s skull with a sickening noise of bone and flesh. For the first time since it had started its rampage, the beast paused in its charge and turned back in the direction of the bombardment, blinking around stupidly for the source. Wasting no time, Rydia watched as Edward bent down again, grabbing armfuls of stones and hurling them towards the monster with a flurry of enraged battle cries. The beast roared in frustration, twisting around at once as it ducked and lashed beneath the onslaught. It let out a howl as its watery eyes fell upon the small blond bard, now fixating on him rather than the small green girl in its midst. For a split second, Rydia watched as a look of relieved satisfaction flashed momentarily in Edward’s eyes. But before he could make a single move—before he could even _contemplate_ the next phase of whatever his wicked plan might have been—that smile was whipped off his face by a wall of turtley sinew.

“EDWARD!” Rydia shrieked, as she watched the monster raise one of its enormous feet and kick the prince squarely in the chest. She watched in horror, still bracing her bow, as he was lifted clean off his feet and hurtled backwards into the jagged ceiling of the cavern.

A second ear-splitting scream shook the cave.

Looking away, Rydia loosed her arrow.

The dull thud of its striking almost drowned out the sickening sound of Edward’s delicate body as it was dashed back onto to the gravely floor below.

Now it was the beast’s turn to scream.

The walls all around the cavern shook—though whether with the cries of the giant monster or the force of its attack, it was impossible to be certain.

As the thunderous roar of their terrible foe echoed throughout the chamber, Rydia dared to reopen her eyes. The turtle was standing as tall and imposing as ever, thrashing like utter madness halfway between herself and where the young prince of Damcyan had stood only moments before. The sorceress didn’t bother looking for where her arrow had landed, though judging by the way the creature writhed in pain, she knew she must have struck her target well. Instead, she glanced around the creature’s trampling feet, eyes flashing frantically, looking for any sign of her fallen comrade. At first, she caught no sight of him. Blood beginning to pound in her ears again with a new, cold sort of terror, the summoner hurriedly scanned the ground. After what felt like half an eternity, her gaze fell upon the large stone beside which he had abandoned his lyre. Following the trajectory of the stomping monster feet, her eyes trailed upward…

 

She saw the stain on the roof of the cavern before she glimpsed anything below…

And she prayed with all her might that it was only a trick of the shadows.

 

Slowly, she looked back towards the ground…

And the sound inside the cave seemed, at once, to silence.

 

Rydia saw the clambering, enormous footsteps of the reptilian beast as it continued to thrash about the floor. She saw the dark, bluish blood that splattered as it writhed, spilling from some distant bleeding wound. She felt her own lips forming the syllables of his name—felt her own voice strained as she screamed it in his direction—!

…But Rydia of Mist suddenly could hear none of it.

Not the cacophony. Not the screams. Nothing but silence and the crackling of a distant fire.

Edward was collapsed on the ground, just beneath the ruined ceiling. His limbs were twisted awkwardly into a crumpled heap, completely unmoved from where they had fallen. Every part of the man—usually so filled with life in their travels, with anxiety in every battle—lay absolutely still. If he could hear Rydia’s shrieks, if he could hear her desperately crying his name…he made no sign of it.

From this distance, she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

 The walls of the cavern did not seem quite so solid anymore. Suddenly they looked much more like trees, slowly smoldering in the night. The shrieks of the turtle-like beast might well have been the screaming of a hundred people, burning as the bombs overwhelmed their homes. And she was back in her village of Mist, watching her dear mother collapse to the ground before her, moments—mere moments!—before the entire town was engulfed in flames.

Fire. She remembered sitting by the fire with Edward. She remembered the words she had spoken to him that day…the destruction of Damcyan. She remembered her own angry voice as if she was watching, a stranger. _I’m not going to cry anymore._

Then what was this? What were these drops of water that cascaded down her face?

_I’m not going to cry anymore!_

The turtle, her merciless enemy, had apparently regained itself, though dark, sticky blood still spilled across its snout. Rydia stood, rooted to spot, her legs and arms suddenly lacking the strength to move. What was the point? It would all be for naught anyway. She could not kill this beast alone—not if she successfully landed every arrow in her quiver. Her mother hadn’t run away. She had stood her ground in the face of doom and destruction—and that was the only reason why she had been slain so cleanly and so mercilessly, instead of slowly roasting in the flames. The turtle roared, its fat, ugly face fixing on the girl with its one good eye. Out of the other, a small iron arrow was stuck like little mounted flag. It was from that wound that all the blood was issuing—the dark, blue blood. It spilled from the creature’s eye as if in mockery of her. In mockery of the things that couldn’t be tears, running like wildfire down her cheeks.

The beast bellowed its unheard cry one last time, shaking the walls of the cave with the force of its fury.

…

The monster charged.

Rydia screamed.

And, in the next instant…it was all over.

…

Sound was back on.

The enormous turtle suddenly shrieked a cry of pain so shrill, so profound, that it almost seemed unearthly. A new roaring filled the air, but this time it was not the battle cry of some vicious beast. This time it was the crashing of waves—true, ocean-like waves!—of vibrant violet light. As they crashed over their target, it might have been by the pull of twin moons themselves. The beams washed over the mighty creature, engulfing it in an electrifying spray. Wide arcs of sparking energy exploded out of the beast as it screamed, thrashing feebly back and forth a few more times as every part of its body twitched and seized.

Then, without warning, it simply stopped.

The limp carcass toppled to the ground with a wet, crunching thud, flashes like plasma still crackling around its motionless body. Its scaly flesh was smoking vaguely, effervescing into the dank air.

Rydia opened her eyes, not entirely sure herself when she had squeezed them shut in the first place. She gazed, transfixed upon the corpse at her feet: the gargantuan creature that, moments before, she had been sure was about to trample her. Now dead. Cold. Smoking slightly. Her sky-blue eyes meandered over its twitching form, as if in disbelief. They traipsed over the beast’s bleeding face, across its long, shelled torso, over the suspended, twitching mounds that had been its giant, crushing feet. She meandered until her gaze met with the tip of a long, black sword, raised in perfect parallel to the ground beneath them.

It was mounted on the shoulder of a knight, whose matching armor made no glint in the cave-light.

He was still standing in his stance, knees half bent, both hands gripping the hilt of his blade. The charge from his massive dark-elemental attack still hung heavy in the air between them.

Rydia watched him for a second longer: Cecil. Her rescuer, who had somehow miraculously saved her again. Slowly—more slowly than she had ever seen of the man—he lowered his sword and made to straighten himself. Content that the battle was finished, he dug the tip of the blade deeply into the ground in front of him, leaning forward on it like a walking staff.

For a moment, the young sorceress almost thought she heard the sounds of heavy breathing echoing from under his helmet. For a moment, she wondered if something might be wrong. For a moment…

 For a moment only…

And then she remembered the prince of Damcyan, lying on the cold rocks some meters away.

“Edward!” she cried, tearing her eyes instantly away from the dark knight and back towards the far wall where she had last seen the injured bard. But, much to her horror, he was no longer there! “Edward!” She screamed again, glancing around frantically, hoping— _praying_ —to see some sign…! The tears that she wasn’t crying flew off her face as she whirled and twirled frantically on spot, “ ** _EDWARD!!_** ”

“Don’t worry, Miss Rydia,” a soft voice suddenly said from somewhere at her side, “I’m all right.”

The young mage whipped about at once: following the direction of those sweet words, hoping they might really belong to—!

“Edward!” she cried his name again as she threw her arms around the man’s waist, not caring anymore if her tears flowed freely. A soothing, calloused hand stroked her hair while the other grappled loosely with his retrieved lyre. “I was so scared—!” she wept, “I thought—!”

“Shh,” he whispered softly in her ear, giving the little girl a small squeeze with his free hand until her crying subsided. “I’m sorry I frightened you, milady. But all is well now.”

Rydia dried the last of her tears along the soft hem of the prince’s long, orange tunic and blinked up at him, studying his expression. Edward’s soft smile seemed as genuine and cheery as always, but this time it did not quite have the summoner fooled. He had his head cocked so that his long sandy hair half hid the right side of his face. Glancing in between the locks, Rydia thought she glimpsed a splatter of blood trickling down from the base of his scalp. A nasty cut amidst the red marked the place where he had struck the cave wall. The adjacent shoulder, he held closely to his body, making her vaguely wonder if he had wounded it on impact. Truly, the bard looked paler even than was usual.

“You’re hurt,” the little sorceress whimpered tearfully, pulling back his hair so as to better visualize the gouge on his face. “Here! Let me Cure you!”

Edward simply shook his head, brushing his hair away just as quickly as her concerns. “Milady, you must scarcely have the strength remaining. Please, do not fuss over me. I assure you, it is nothing…”

But before Rydia could even manage a reply, she was cut off as a dark, quiet voice resounded from somewhere just behind her:

“Do not lie to her.”

The summoner twirled immediately on spot just in time to see a familiar expanse of black armor pull up beside her. But to her surprise, it was not to the stiff, upright knees of the overbearing knight with which she was greeted.

“Do not lie to her,” the shape repeated gravely, digging his sword pointedly back into the ground before him. Rydia blinked with shock and alarm as she watched her fellow fighter sink and lean against it once more, his legs shaking like they might give way. But still the soldier forced himself to face Edward, doubled over though he was rapidly becoming. “Hide all the truth you want,” he breathed, voice heavy but resonating with strength beneath his helmet, “but do not _lie_ …”

Rydia quickly twisted back toward the prince, not entirely certain how she expected him to react to such accusations. Perhaps with anger… perhaps with fear or defiance… But certainly the last thing she was expecting was the look of absolute terror that was plastered across the bard’s face as he beheld the waning knight. He might not have heard the words at all.

“Dear _god_ , Cecil!” Edward exclaimed, seemingly forgetting his own injuries a he rushed quickly to his fellow’s side, just in time to catch him from collapsing.

“I’m all right,” Cecil hissed in assurance, trying and failing to straighten himself back up without his companion’s assistance.  

“Like hell you are!” the bard exclaimed in reply. “Rydia,” he directed to the young mage, nodding urgently to the man in his embrace “That Cure spell, quickly!”

Still partially in shock, the girl in question nonetheless gave her head a brief shake in understanding. The summoner closed her eyes at once and concentrated on dragging forth what tiny sliver remained of her magical energies. She could almost see the words to the enchantment forming in her mind, could almost feel them tugging, begging at her lips, waiting to be spoken. Her head gave a sickening lurch in protest as she drew the coalescing power together, and Rydia knew she would only have the strength left for the one spell…

She could heal one of them. She could heal Cecil. But the other…But Edward…

“Wait.”

Rydia jumped at the soft, commanding sound of Cecil’s voice as it suddenly cut across her meditation. Her eyes snapped instantly open, the energy of her gathered magic still pulsing around her. She blinked at the Dark Knight with confusion, but nonetheless halted the progression of her spell as he had requested.

“Cecil…” Edward trailed off, glancing down at his traveling companion with look of worry that seemed to be even more profound than Rydia’s own.

But Cecil shook his head, dismissing the bard’s unspoken concerns. “That spell would be wasted on me—and _you_ know it, I think,” he replied easily, turning pointedly towards Edward. As if in silent confirmation, the man in question flushed a guilty shade of vermillion. Apparently content, the knight turned back towards his younger party member. “Rydia,” he directed, “Cast it on Prince Edward.”

Fingers still sparkling with white light, the young mage knew that she could not hold out much longer. In just a few moments, she would _have_ to listen to one of them or the other… Furtively, she looked both men over.

Cecil was still leaning heavily on his sword with one arm, the other wrapped around Edward for support. His entire body, whatever it may have looked like, was of course completely hidden beneath his suit of black armor. It frightened her to see her loyal, undefeated protector suddenly looking so weakened, but if he was injured, she could not tell—and the girl was not even sure if she could heal injuries she could not see. Moreover… if Cecil himself claimed that her magic couldn’t help him…

(She couldn’t imagine an injury that could not be lessened by Cure. At least…not that she had ever seen on a being of muscle and sinew…)

But looking at Edward, he no longer seemed to have any words of protest. His features were still alight with obvious worry, but now they looked forlorn, defeated.

Rydia bit her lip, feeling her fingers tremble and shake without her conscious command, itching to release the magic she had called forth.

At last, the prince of Damcyan sighed and shook his head vaguely. “All right,” he spat, a bit dejectedly, rubbing his temples with his free hand. “We’ll do it your way—but you can’t go on like this, Cecil!”

As she continued to hold her spell, Rydia watched the dark knight for a reaction. She fully expected him to respond with his usual quiet defiance, but to her surprise, he nodded. “You’re right,” he conceded, voice frighteningly unfamiliar without its usual power behind it. The pretense of formality he had been keeping since Kaipo was completely abandoned. “I can’t. I know that. But that changes nothing about this immediate situation.”

Edward sighed a once again, but this time he responded with a tone at least more at ease than before. “Just promise me that we’ll set up camp after this. Promise that you’ll let yourself rest, Cecil—properly rest! None of this hulking about in case of attack that you’ve been entertaining us with as of late.”

An odd ripple ran through the soldier’s armored form at that last of demands, and for a moment, he looked pointedly away. Edward, however, did not let up: “I mean it, Cecil,” he pressed. “If I understand this ‘situation’ as well as both you and I seem to think I do, then you should heed me. You need to take some time to disarm, get some proper sleep, and keep as far away from that dark blade as possible.”

Silence descended upon the trio.

Rydia, still sparkling with tingling white light glanced between the pair of men so quickly that the room was almost a blur. Her heart leapt with anticipation at what the prince was suggesting. Could that really be possible? Would Cecil really concede to such a thing as lay back and disarm for a while? To take off his armor? To reveal what lay beneath it, whether man or beast? The whole concept seemed almost unbelievable! Inwardly, the girl knew the idea should not excite her so much—should not _frighten_ her so much!—but she simply could not help it. After all this time, would she finally be able to see for herself, one way or the other, the mysterious man who hid beneath that shell of black iron?

Just this moment, it seemed almost fitting—appropriate even—though earlier that same day, she would have found this whole prospect inconceivable. But here, the three of them all exhausted, all united together in their hours of fighting, and trudging, and fighting… After all that had transpired in such a short time, it felt right that here and now they should finally become proper comrades. No more secrets. No more delusions.

Because it just so happened that Edward’s words were entirely correct—and not just where Cecil was concerned. They could not carry on like this anymore—not one of them. It was time to let go of the past, at least in part. Children grew up and eventually learned that there were no monsters lurking under their beds. It was the natural order of things. And now…now was the time to turn on the light.

The young summoner glanced back and forth between her companions once more, still waiting for one of them to say something and end this terrible anticipation. She felt she could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Cecil slowly nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered softly, conceding. As if he could hear the very words of Rydia’s internal monologue, he continued with a voice gentler than the girl remembered ever hearing before: “Let’s set up camp. We’re all of us too tired to keep carrying on this way.”

Edward released the breath he had been holding, allowing himself a small, genuine smile for perhaps the first time since they’d left his ruined palace. Turning towards Rydia, he gave her a small nod in approval, urging her on. For a split second in time, the sorceress blinked confusedly, having completely forgotten, in her excitement, about the spell half-formed upon her fingertips. Her fingers, however, were apparently suffering from no such affliction. Indeed, by the time her mind fully recognized the meaning of the prince’s gesture, they were already in the air, glowing with radiant light, their invocation nearly cast.

“Cure!” she cried at once, strange symbols, incantations in some arcane tongue flying across her mind. She understood none of them—not consciously. They were remnants of another world, one which she imagined proper mages must have studied for half their lives. But then again, she didn’t need to understand; that was not the way of Mist.

Her hands, her body, her magic itself all knew what they were doing with or without her.

 All at once, the pent-up energy exploded out of the summoner’s tiny frame and whipped around Edward like his own personal storm. It tossed his hair about his face as the sparkling light coalesced on his surface wound—on the injured tissues beneath it. For a single breath, his entire body lit up with healing light, glowing from within as if there burned inside him a magnificent torch.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

The spell was done.

Rydia, for her part, fell back against the wall behind her, utterly exhausted from the single moment of exertion. She hadn’t enough magic left now to heal a paper cut. She watched, there reclining, mild amusement bubbling out of her, as the prince blinked dazedly, shaking off the after effects of the Cure spell.

And she giggled—she laughed. For what felt like the first time in weeks, Rydia of Mist allowed herself to smile.

Before she had come here, before she had set off on this journey, she had scarcely healed anyone before. And now, here she was: plopped in exhaustion against the floor of a foreign cave, watching her newest traveling companion struggle to regain himself in the wake of her magic. She supposed she had forgotten, what with all they had been through in the last several days, that Edward had only just joined them. She hadn’t seen any signs of white mages back at his palace. He must, then, be still unaccustomed to working with a sorceress. She hadn’t thought about it until just now, as she watched the bard gently feel his hairline, where the long cut in his scalp had just sealed itself. Somehow, it felt like he had been there forever.

Somehow, it had felt like they had all been together forever.

Across the way, Edward smiled at the young summoner, apparently content that all parts of him were intact. “Thank you, Rydia,” he murmured, nodding to the little girl, sprawled in lazy mirth upon the ground. Glancing back towards Cecil—who was still half-collapsed in his embrace—he ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair and joked good naturedly. “By god, it’s good to see only one of you again. I’ll admit: I was getting a bit concerned there with your apparent sprouting of a second head.”

Cecil only made a sound like a hiss from beneath his helm—without the interference of the metal, Rydia suspected it might have been a defeated sigh. Seeing his companion’s melancholy, Edward pestered him no further.

“Come on,” the bard impelled, helping the faded knight straighten himself, “Let’s get you off your feet. I think I saw an appropriate chamber up ahead…”

He motioned to Rydia, who pulled herself off the floor at once and skipped up a few paces to join her party. As they turned in the direction Edward had indicated, she could have sworn she heard Cecil whisper: “Are you sure you didn’t just _hit_ your head?”

She giggled, feeling right now more hopeful about the future than she had been since Mist.

The darkness didn’t seem so frightening anymore—just an illusion. Like the monsters. Like the monsters that had never really been hiding beneath her bed.

The past was a dark and terrible place, but here now, with these two at her side, there was a nightlight at least amidst the shadows. A glimmer of hope that promised things might one day be normal again. Here. With these men.

Edward. Cecil.

As they prepared to head off together, she looked on them both and smiled:

They were true companions—just like the one’s she’d heard told in fairytales.

And, with a newfound resolve, the tired, beaten band of adventurers set off into the distance: ready at last to come together around their campfire, to reveal the secrets that they had each been keeping.

…

…

But this was not a fairytale.

…

And stories whose theme is darkness scarcely ever end with warm and fluffy feelings.

…

…

“Wait… stop for a moment.”

Rydia and Edward ceased giggling at once, whatever petty joke they had been sharing instantly forgotten as Cecil’s voice, dark and serious again, suddenly cut across the space between them. The pair blinked in confusion, staring at the knight. Truly, they had not even limped more than a few meters from where their last foe had fallen. Edward’s desired camping spot, whatever it may have been, was still hidden by the shadows in the distance.

“Cecil…”the bard started, glancing at his companion with quiet concern, “What is—?”

The next several things all happened very quickly…

Before the young prince could even finish his question, he was cut off as a series of resounding booms suddenly shook the stale air. The ground began to shake. Dust and pebbles rained from the ceiling. A dreadfully familiar roar suddenly exploded overhead.

And there it was: the beginning of the end.

 

_The end of innocence._

 

Out of the darkness just behind the party, another turtle had appeared—this one seemingly even bigger and vaster than the one before it. It pawed at its fallen fellow, blinking and nudging at the carcass as if expecting it to rise. Obviously, it did not. It would never rise again.

As she watched with bated breath, Rydia felt her knees suddenly go weak. A feeling of cold, disproportionate terror slipped into her bones where joy had been not a breath before. They could still escape, she whispered to her newly-pounding heart. They were so close now…if they could just get away before it saw them… but though her mind could whisper its feeble comforts, her body—her body that knew and spoke and cast its own spells—would not believe it. It was if she knew—!

 

_Knew before it even had played out before her..._

The creature turned towards the trio of humans, letting out another roar that shook bits of dust down into their eyes. Rydia hadn’t even seen Cecil move, but not even a heartbeat later, he was standing at point, sword held aloft and at the ready. His fatigue from a moment before might have been naught but fantasy.

 

_They hadn’t the strength to fight…_

“Run!” he yelled, glancing quickly back at them. “Run for cover! I’ll hold it off!”

Edgar nodded at once, grabbing immediately for Rydia’s hand as the turtle ahead of them shrieked one final time and began to charge. But the summoner would not budge. She stared, transfixed as Cecil’s blade sliced the air, hacking at the beast and blocking it’s attack. The force of the blow lifted him swiftly off his feet, but the weary soldier hastily regained his footing and drew back his weapon for a second assault.

There was no coolness. There was no calm, fluid motion. The battle was not over in a single, crippling strike.

 

_Something wasn’t right…_

 

“Go!” the dark knight shouted again over his shoulder.  Edward, at the girl’s side, tugged ever harder, bidding her to move. At last, he managed to dislodge her from where she stood. Cecil launched himself at the monster, and the shadowy steel of his black sword sliced deeply into its throat.

 

_Cecil never fought like this…_

 

 His foe roared with pain, shaking its head hither and thither as jagged, uneven cuts tore at its flesh. Spurts of blue blood rained once again upon the floor. It showered the entire battle zone like a gruesome geyser as the dark knight forced his serrated blade-edge to rip back out of the turtle’s leather hide.

 

_Why? Why is he fighting like this?_

As they tore away from the scene, Rydia looked back. The great shelled beast was thrashing like its cohort before it—and Cecil, for his part could only dodge haphazardly around it as it writhed. With a powerful blow, it caught the swordsman with its foot and drove him crashing into the ground. The little sorceress screamed his name, eyes locked in horror, unable to look away. But Edward would not let her go. He would not let her turn back.

 

_Why doesn’t he just…?_

 

But no sooner had they started running than the desert prince skidded to a halt as well, kicking up dust clouds at his ankles. With surprising force, he tossed Rydia roughly to the ground behind him. The summoner yelped, losing all context of the battle for a moment as she rolled end for end upon the stony floor.  From just ahead of her, she heard her companion’s cracking voice cry out: “Cecil! It’s got friends!”

The chill in Rydia’s marrow instantly turned to a deep freeze.

Tossing her ruffled green hair out of her face, the little girl blinked up towards their company bard, desperate to see for herself—desperate to prove him wrong! The truth presented itself almost immediately. Standing some three meters ahead of them, slowly advancing, was a massive lizard—a creature glowing such a brilliant orange that it might well have been _made_ of fire itself!

A clink of metal at her side alerted Rydia that the knight in question had pulled up beside them as well. As the girl glanced up at his knees, she saw with a lurch of her stomach that they were shaking badly. He once again had to dig his sword into the dirt to remain upright. “Yes,” he hissed beneath his helm, “I see that…”

One hand released the hilt of his weapon and, with another clink, extended to point at something back in the direction from which he had come. Shifting to follow, Edward let out a shaky breath from somewhere above. Confused, Rydia leaned around and glanced past Cecil’s legs, squinting through the gloom. She saw the turtle he had been fighting was some distance away. It was wounded but certainly alive…  And even more horribly, it was being helped off the ground by a wild-looking snake woman who shimmered electric green.

They were surrounded.

 

And they were doomed…

Rydia felt numb. Not frightened. Not terrified. Just numb.

“What do we do?” she heard Edward shouting from somewhere beside her. “We can’t run… And if we haven’t the strength to beat _one_ —!”

 

_Nowhere to run._

Flanking her other side, Cecil Harvey stiffened inside his suit of black armor. “Edward…” he whispered quietly, his voice coming through his helmet clearer than his young companion had ever heard it before. “Please protect Rydia for me.”

 

_Nowhere to hide._

“Well…of course I will,” the prince of Damcyan started quietly, his tone broken and confused. “But…wait. Why? …Cecil?”

But Cecil was no longer standing beside them. Instead, he had taken two wide strides forward, shielding his two partners behind him. Wordlessly, he raised his sword high against his shoulder. Facing the advancing trio of fiends, he bent his knees into an all-too-familiar stance.

 

_No escape for you._

 

“Cecil, _NO_!”

Edward’s voice cut, shrieking across the cave, rising even above the cacophony of stomping beastly footsteps.

But it was too late.

The tip of his dark blade pointed straight at the monsters, the area all around Cecil Harvey suddenly exploded in waves of violet light. Rydia felt her breath catch in her throat. This was it! They were saved!

…but even as she watched, the young summoner knew that something was not right. As the waves like ocean currents exploded out of his sword, her knight in shine-less armor didn’t remain the steadfast statue she had seen so many times in the past.

 

_(One wave, two wave.)_

Every part of his metal-coated body shook like a leaf in the wind.

_(Three wave, four.)_

As his opponents shrieked, each of them igniting with cracks of dark electrical energy, one of his gauntleted hands fell from his sword.

_(Five wave, six wave.)_

It clutched at the thick metal plates that covered his breast, scratching at the surface as if trying to tear through. With a trembling arm, he forced his blade to remain parallel, even as his knees buckled.

_(Seven wave…)_

(Floor.)

 

Edward was still screaming, though his words were completely drowned out now by the sounds of death around them. As the final flood of sinister energy burst forth from the dark knight’s blade, Rydia felt her heart suddenly falter in her chest.

_Cecil never failed. Cecil never missed. Cecil never faltered. Her protector. Her golem. Her eidolon. He wasn’t made out of weak flesh that would leave her weeping in the fires again. Not like her mommy. Cecil was always victorious and unscathed…_

But not this time.

 

An ear-splitting sound of pure, shrieking agony erupted out of the swordsman. It shook the walls of the cavern—shook them more than the roars and the footsteps and the resounding attacks combined. Rydia clasped her hands to her ears, but found herself unable to block out the heart-wrenching cry.

The final phase of Cecil’s dark attack it exploded on impact.

Sparkling white light consumed the whole of the scene—a light that shot not out of the knight’s sword, but instead ripped itself straight out of his armored body.

The screaming stopped.

 

…

 

When the light faded again, Edward was already half way across the space between them, dashing to the scene of the fight.

Rydia watched—unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel—as she watched him skid to a halt upon the dusty rock.

When the light faded, all three of the monsters lay motionless, contorted and still on the floor…

And so did Cecil Harvey.

 

…

 

Yes, there was a time when Rydia had had to keep reminding herself that Cecil was human… but that was before she came to Antlion cave. That was before she truly understood the terrible nature of

Darkness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me essentially as a plot bunny that simply refused to be hunted and killed until it was first brought to its full fruition. It is based in part upon memories of my own early playings of the game as a child, but was primarily inspired by watching two young girls play it for the first time just a few months ago. The pair, accustomed to today's somewhat easier, more cut-scene oriented games, were thrown aghast by a number of features in FFIV. First of all, they found it difficult to relate to a character like Cecil, whom they could not see through his armor for the entire first half of the game. Second, they found the ease at which they died--and the concept that Cecil's own special ability could slowly kill him--appalling and indeed returned my DS to me in surrender when (after hours of struggle) they watched Leviathan swallow the whole of their party. It all got me thinking, and so I organized my musings here into this two-shot--my first post here on AO3. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, I worked out a complete biological cascade of mechanisms both to how Cecil's Dark Blade and Dark Wave abilities could work. In-game all we see is the attack that drains his HP, but as most humans do not have walking hit-point bars, I instead chose a metabolic mechanism for the blade's function. In short, my model involves a world wherein people have determined the existence of a 'soul' component to their beings, and in which said constructs radiate a sort of specific energy that connects these 'soul' and 'body' components into one organism. These liquid assets can also be called upon by mages in a collective series of effects known as 'magic'. For my part, I assumed that the Dark Blade requires copious amounts of these liquid assets provided from its user and that the body attempts to keep a homeostatic balance between stores of metabolic and spiritual energy sources. I also assumed that this draining would be initially directed more towards the latter side than the former, but that repeated use of the blade would eventually drain spiritual energy stores and force it to instead steal copious amounts of chemical energy from its wielder. In Cecil's case at the end, this was exacerbated to a point not unlike metabolic (and subsequent cardiogenic) shock. 
> 
> This will be explored more in the next chapter, but I always feel obligated to provide at least a little of my scientific musings for my readers initially. More specific data can be provided on request. :3 
> 
> The next chapter will focus on the aftermath of Cecil's collapse, the trauma-recovery process, the overall effect on Rydia, as well as Edward's own dark secrets. It might even end on a warm and fluffy note--one never knows. ;)


End file.
